


an empire for two

by thorduna



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Captivity, Come Shot, Coming Untouched, Dry Humping, Fights, First Time, Gladiators, M/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Thor: The Dark World, Ragnarok guess fic, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7346548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorduna/pseuds/thorduna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthday gift for <a href="http://karuvapatta.tumblr.com">Karu!</a></p>
<p>Based on Thor: Ragnarok rumours. Thor is captured and forced to fight in an arena for the pleasure of the scum of the universe. He gets a surprising opponent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>He could bear it all; his hair chopped off, the heat, the physical strain, the disgusting, dirty cell that he calls his home now, even the killing, though the unnecessary, often dishonourable deaths weigh on his soul, but the knowledge of lies beyond this piece of dirt planet is what truly drives him to his knees.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	an empire for two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karuvapatta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/gifts).



Something is happening.

 

The tension in the dungeons is palpable, the already hot, stinking air has a sharp quality to it as the whips come down on unsuspecting backs with even more ease than usual.

 

Thor is not on the receiving end of those floggings, he hasn't been since the time he fought the so-called Kraken and won. That victory, along with several more right after, just to prove it wasn't a fluke, catapulted him into the position of the most coveted, most favoured gladiator this wretched planet has ever seen.

 

He could bear it all; his hair chopped off, the heat, the physical strain, the disgusting, dirty cell that he calls his home now, even the killing, though the unnecessary, often dishonourable deaths weigh on his soul, but the knowledge of lies beyond this piece of dirt planet is what truly drives him to his knees.

 

Hela, the queen of death herself, ruling Asgard.

 

His mother, dead.

 

His brother, dead.

 

His father, absent, lost, maybe dead too.

 

Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, stretched prone on his thin blanket that does nothing to soften the dirt floor, he wishes he didn't have this desperate will to live.

 

No. it's not the desire to keep _living_ that keeps him upright, it's a certain stubbornness that insists that _giving up_ is never an option.

 

Looking back at the past years of his life, he thinks this is what caused him the most grief.

 

As it does now.

 

Despite his position and the laughable privileges that come with it, he is little more than a caged beast. A prisoner, certainly, one that has limited value.

 

He could already sense something within the audience in the fight yesterday, the frantic cheers that usually edge him on muting into bored applause. The Thunderer always wins.

 

He doesn't need to be an entrepreneur of death to know his predictability will be his downfall.

 

He suspects this is the reason for the excited rush today. They have a new opponent for him, one that they believe will defeat him.

 

“Up you get, beast.”

 

Thor slowly raises his head. He's been sitting with his back to the wall, arms resting on his knees, head low.

 

The man banging on the door of his cage is called Dur and he is of a breed that Thor despite his considerable knowledge of races and nations all over the universe has no name for. He is the right hand of the man that managed to lock Thor in here, the Grandmaster.

 

Thor gets up ever so slowly, never missing an opportunity to anger the little worm.

 

Once he is ushered into the small room that serves as a bathing chamber and a changing one as well, his suspicions seem to be confirmed. The armour waiting for him is even more minuscule than usual. There is a short leather skirt, a pair of iron vambraces and a thick, wide collar of sorts that, despite its humiliating nature, would at least offer sensible protection again neck wounds.

 

An attendant slips in, hauling two heavy buckets of water. It's a tiny girl with swirls of green and pink on her skin. Thor knows her well but she never speaks.

 

They have a little ritual. Thor crouches on the stone floor and lets her wash him without giving her any trouble, in return she is gentle to him and braids the top layer of his hair, the one he was allowed to grow out. They still shave it in thick bands above his ears.

 

She sluices the water over his head and scrubs him down with a rough cloth, then gets to work on his hair as usual. Thor stares at the puddles of dirty water, lost in thought. Mjolnir is lost to him, of course, kept away by the magic surrounding the blasted arena. Without it, he often feels more deadly than with it. Desperate and unrefined.

 

“Master beast fight a brother today.”

 

Thor jerks, surprised. The girls voice is high but rough at the same time and this is the first time that Thor has heard it.

 

He turns and cranes his neck to look at her. She looks intimidated by her own daring.

 

“A brother?” he repeats. Could it be another Aesir perhaps? She shakes her head, indicating that it was all she could say.

 

Worry squeezes his throat. The frenzy in the dungeons, his silent attendant speaking up, it all points to something truly sinister.

 

Thor grimly puts on his meagre armour. There is nothing to do but face the threat with his head held high. The helpless frustration is a known companion to him now. He worries about staged, brutal fights while his own home is ruled by a deadly hand and he is powerless to stop it.

 

The little girl's words sit heavily in his stomach.

 

Of course, there is one inevitable thought, one inevitable flutter of his foolish heart upon hearing the word _brother._ The one he lost, only to, very shortly, in a manner too brittle to think too hard about, gain him again and then lose him for good.

 

But Loki died with honour and Thor thinks about the secret opponent he is about to face. Could his own death be honourable too? Could he fight his way from this miserable arena and into the halls of Valhalla, to share a drink and to hunt in evergreen forests with a slip of a dark haired boy?

 

Dreams.

 

Dreams and folly.

 

Reality is dust and the smell of piss and old blood.

 

He is marched through long, dark corridors. He knows the way, but pretends not to and plays at obediently following the guards that flank him.

 

Dur is waiting for him at the small chamber that is dominated by one prominent feature – a heavy gate. No matter how many times Thor has stepped out through that gate and then successfully returned, it seems to draw his gaze. Everything else falls away. Thick patches of sunlight filter through.

 

Dur smacks him on the back in a pretence of a good natured gesture. Thor barely notices the impact but Dur staggers and Thor turns his head lightly to stare him down some. He has to take enjoyment everywhere he can get it.

 

“It's a special one today,” Dur sneers. “Bring on your best because you will be meeting your better. He's no lowly slave like you are, he is the Grandmaster's esteemed guest who wants to test his mettle against a beast.”

 

“Are you telling me I'm supposed to let him win?” Thor growls. So that's the play. Why scour the universe for someone stronger than Thor when they think they can manoeuvre Thor into giving up?

 

“The Grandmaster is certain that he will beat you,” Dur says instead, little eyes flashing in sadistic pleasure. “No input from you required.”

 

Thor opens his mouth to retort but the gate flies open with a deafening creak and Thor instantly trains his eyes on the sand at his feet, trying to get used to the blaze of the sun as quickly as possible.

 

He slowly steps out from the shade and onto the arena floor, listening to the roaring buzz from the tribunes. He takes stock of his surroundings. Sometimes there are obstacles or weapons prepared, but this time he sees nothing but freshly rowed sand.

 

There's no opponent yet and so Thor rises his eyes to the tribunes. He never waves or acknowledges them, not even with a raised fist or other gesture. He briefly considers doing so now, but he dismisses the idea quickly, knowing it would make him look nervous.

 

As though he needs the approval of the scum that thirsts and bets on blood and violence and death.

 

Satisfied with his perusal of the arena and of the mood of the audience, he stands, legs slightly apart, arms loosely by his sides though his hands curled into fists, eyes trained on the opposite gate.

 

He doesn't need to wait long.

 

The gate opens and something moves in the shadows.

 

Then the elusive figure steps out into the hot, blazing light.

 

Thor's mind is stuck on the details, unable to process the image in front of him. The gleam of old gold, the flash of green silk, the polished blackness of new leather.

 

Pale cheeks, dark strands of hair, cut somewhat short and finally, a sharp, mocking gaze of bright green eyes.

 

The arena quiets and were Thor paying attention, he would notice the slight air of confusion, the hush of wonder that travels through the stands.

 

To them, perhaps, this is not the spectacle they were promised. This man, the challenger of the Thunderer, is no taller than him and even in his plentiful armour, he is certainly not thicker. Not stronger.

 

But they don't know that the man who just entered the arena is the only one capable of really defeating Thor.

 

They watch each other for long moments. Thor feels removed from his body, his limbs protesting in their numbness as though he's fallen asleep.

 

A sharp prick snaps him out of the haze. A silver throwing knife has embedded itself in his shoulder and Loki watches him like a naughty boy who just threw a pebble at his friend to make him pay attention.

 

Slowly, Thor reaches up and pulls the knife out.

 

“Poor move,” he says, surprising himself. His voice is steady and cold even though he feels anything but. “Now I have a weapon.”

 

* * *

 

Thor wakes up with his head pounding in pain. He can't tell if it's from over-abundance of drink or from getting hit repeatedly, but to be fair, it may very well have been both. The good news is that he is lying on something soft so it seems he at least made it to a bed.

 

Then reality, along with memory, comes crashing down.

 

Loki.

 

Loki is alive.

 

Loki is alive and came to fight Thor in the arena where Thor has been captive for months, defeated and sent there by Hela after she took over Asgard.

 

He opens his eyes, dreading what he might see.

 

An inappropriately picturesque image lies before him. He's lying on a large, low bed that is shielded by hanging silks in pale colours; beyond that is a small chamber with comfortable seating and a table laden with fruits, meats and cheeses. The one large window shows a view of beautiful, uninterrupted dunes of sand. That alone is enough to sour the circumstance in Thor's mind, despite the more pressing matter of his not-dead brother sitting in one of those chairs. He is still on the blasted planet.

 

Sitting up, Thor tries to take stock of Loki. He is dressed casually, no sign of his armour. His clothes are dark but of light materials more suited to the hot climate. He's running a blueberry between his thumb and forefinger, letting it paint his skin bluish purple.

 

“You beat me.” It is rather stating the obvious, but to say anything else would be too dangerous. The fight was vicious, fuelled by Thor's rage at being deceived. The anger alone may have carried him to victory were it not for a particular foggy feeling taking over his senses, made only worse by the occasional hit to his upper body that Loki managed to land. “With the use of poison, I assume.”

 

Loki looks at him, seeming perfectly at ease. “Well, it would be imprudent if you killed me before we had a chance to talk.”

 

To talk. Thor snorts. There are so many things he'd like to say, so many questions he'd like to ask and demand they be answered.

 

So of course, instead he says: “Where are we? What is this place?”

 

Loki looks around as though he's seeing the room for the first place. “Oh, this little shack? The Grandmaster kindly offered that I could use it to take my prize.”

 

A burst of annoyance runs down Thor's spine. “And what exactly is the nature of your taking your _prize?_ ”

 

Loki levels him with a haughty stare. “Look down at yourself.”

 

Thor does, instinctively, and a small noise escapes him. It's true that the armour he is usually provided in the arena leaves little to the imagination, but at least it's that, armour. What he's wearing now is a small loin cloth of white, completely see-through material.

 

“You're welcome, by the way.” Thor looks up at Loki again, frowning. “They offered to pierce your nipples and cock. Showed me some lovely gold jewellery, too. It was tempting but I declined.”

 

Thor sits in silence for a while before getting up, grabbing a goblet to pour himself some water before sitting down at the table, ignoring Loki and eating everything in sight with as little dignity and manners as he can manage.

 

“I see they feed you nothing but gruel too.”

 

“Don't start,” Thor snaps. He knows full well that while yes, Loki was treated to the same bleak sustenance that the other prisoners were in Asgard, he also had wine and fruits continuously provided by their mother.

 

But because he failed to provide Loki with a desired reaction to the jab about Loki's own imprisonment, he soon finds himself facing an attack from a wholly different angle.

 

“This little display of poor table manners is really quite charming,” Loki says, drawing his voice in a bored manner. Thor hates that tone. “I was promised a very rustic experience and you are certainly providing.”

 

Thor snatches up an apple and bites into it noisily, looking directly at Loki as he chews, a trickle of juice dripping down his chin.

 

“You have not asked about Asgard.”

 

Thor forces himself into not reacting.

 

“What is there to say? Either you have come to break me out of here, and you will do so after you've had your fill of games, or you are decided to leave me here, in which case no amount of reasoning will sway you.”

 

He is sure he sees Loki's eyes flash. Annoyed? Hurt?

 

“That is a truly disturbing reflection of what you think about my character.”

 

“Good.”

 

Loki gets up, coming to stand in front of the window, his back turned to Thor. He can clearly see the tension, the slight jerkiness of movement and he feels viciously proud to not have played into what Loki had imagined coming here.

 

Somewhere underneath that spite, and not buried nearly deep enough, he's already yearning for reconciliation.

 

“I have come to take you away. And after, I intend to fight Hela by your side.” Thor lets out a little breath after that admission. Then Loki turns and that moment of softness that so clearly bled through that statement is gone. “But our escape plan is very particular, so you will follow my lead. I trust you have already tried every forcible way of leaving, so this time, we do it my way.”

 

Thor appears to look innocent. “Whatever you say, brother.”

 

Loki scowls. “So settle down. I still have hours to spend enjoying my barbarian.”

 

* * *

 

It's likely neither of them realized just how taxing it could be for the two of them to be locked in a small room with nothing but each other to entertain them.

 

Thor's resolve not to feed into Loki's games by asking him question and thus giving him the power of choosing an answer melts after approximately an hour. The following conversation leads promptly into shouting and into cold silence right after.

 

A while later, Thor opens his mouth to say something and Loki cuts him off with a stern motion of his hand. But he's not looking at Thor, he's looking at the door. Thor hears it too – quiet, creeping steps approaching.

 

“Get on the bed and take off that scrap you call clothing.”

 

Thor is only able to follow this directive due to a steady stream of expletives that he runs through his head over and over again.

 

They do nothing to help though when Loki upends a pitcher of water over him and then quickly rids himself of his tunic, tossing it aside.

 

“What?” Thor hisses, only to be shushed again as Loki pushes him onto his back and straddles him, mercifully still wearing trousers, a fact he quickly covers by a strategically placed sheet. And not a second too soon, either. The door opens, slowly but without warning.

 

Thor is not entirely sure how the situation can look like a coupling to anyone, despite the bed, the nakedness and the spilled water playing the part of sweat or other appropriate bodily fluids.

 

The person – creature – coming in is a mere attendant, bringing in another plate of food and watching them shiftily all the while.

 

“Hurry up and get out,” Loki snaps at him after a while.

 

There's not much Thor can do, naked and sprawling on the bed, put there by the machinations of his brother, the one who has him at his mercy, and by extension, the future of Asgard as well.

 

But he is not helpless.

 

“Don't mind him,” he whispers audibly. His hand curl effortlessly around Loki's bare waist, in full view of the attendant. “He's just envious.”

 

Loki's nails dig into Thor's skin where he's resting his palms on Thor's chest. Thor arches into it, moaning.

 

The door clicks shut and Thor bites down a laugh, looking up at the completely scandalized expression of Loki's face.

 

“What?” Thor mocks. “That was your plan, was it not?”

 

“My plan- you-” Loki snaps his mouth shut, shaking his head and making a move to get up.

 

Thor has other ideas. He rolls them over forcibly, pressing Loki down into the bed and grabbing his wrists, making himself comfortable between his spread legs.

 

“There's only so far the charade has to go,” Loki tells him tersely. He's not fighting to get Thor off though, likely knowing it would be futile.

 

“I know exactly how far you think it should go,” Thor replies. “Only so far as to make me uncomfortable. Strip me, taunt me with piercings, remind me I'm just a piece of meat.”

 

“You have become very introspective in your captivity.”

 

“Which is more than can be said for you,” Thor shoots back, all that anger coming back in full force.

 

“On the contrary,” Loki replies pensively. “Now get off.”

 

“No.”

 

He enjoys this on a very primal level. The tense stillness of Loki's body, the proximity. There's something about sharing a breath with Loki, feeling his heart beat, catching the scent of his hair that makes things seem oddly real. That makes Loki real.

 

This is the brother he has spent a millennium touching. And now he gets to hold on to him again.

 

“Thor-” Loki starts off sharply but doesn't finish his sentence. But then: “You have no idea how seriously you are jeopardizing our truce.”

 

“Truce?” Thor recoils physically. He is still pressing Loki's wrists into the bed above his head but he is almost raised to his knees. “That's what you'd call it between us? Do you plan to get back to battling me the second we dispose of Hela?”

 

That seems to amuse Loki for some reason. “Why do you think it will be me who forces us into battle again?”

 

Before Thor, admittedly mollified, can respond, Loki goes on. “Trust you to completely ignore my warning and get stuck on one little word.”

 

Thor huffs a laugh and sags back on top of Loki, who is instantly tense again.

 

“Why must you-” His protest is cut short as Thor stops, turning puzzled gaze to his brother flushed face. With nothing but the thin material of Loki's trousers between them, Thor can feel a hot, hard outline of his cock pressed against Thor's belly.

 

This in itself would be shock enough, but it's the visceral reaction of Thor's own body that renders him completely speechless.

 

He... responds.

 

He has not found release in months now, of course, his dirty cell hardly lending itself to either privacy or mood. And he's always been quick to react to handsome people and easy stimuli.

 

But those handsome people were never his brother and the stimuli was never the two of them rolling naked in bed together.

 

“Is this what is jeopardizing our partnership?” Thor asks quietly. Loki's eyes are shut. “You think I will reject you for this?”

 

Loki remains stubbornly silent. Thor manoeuvres their hands so that he is holding both of Loki's wrists in one hand and uses his newly freed fingers to trail them gently over the side of Loki's face.

 

“Perhaps I was unfair to accuse you of trying to humiliate me with this set up,” Thor muses out loud. “Perhaps your reasons were much more... prosaic.”

 

“You were always so damned arrogant about your looks,” Loki scowls, finally opening his eyes. They are full of defiance. “And with good reason too, which makes it all the more annoying.”

 

Thor finds this prickly honesty rather refreshing and decides to reward it.

 

With a kiss.

 

His world has already been turned upside down. This transgression cannot make it any worse.

 

And for once it seems he is completely right.

 

His brother's lips are thin and smooth and the inside of his mouth is hot.

 

Deep down Thor expects a fight, even though – or maybe because – this is clearly what Loki wants. He is admitted inside, allowed to lick in and keeps on kissing his brother until he is out of breath. He pulls back and Loki blinks up at him.

 

“I don't know what you are,” Loki breathes out. “Foolish or cruel or-”

 

It's a good thing that Thor has a novel way of shutting him up.

 

Once discovered and awoken, this desire hits Thor hard. He's swept into it and he doesn't look back. His teeth find a pulse point and bite, mouth explores flushing skin.

 

Things come to a halt when he slides down lower, kissing outlines of muscle until his lips graze a peaked nipple, which instantly catches his attention. Loki's hands, long freed, find their way into Thor's shorn hair and he makes an attempt to stop Thor from what he does next – wrapping his lips around the little nub and sucking, hard.

 

Loki bucks against him, moaning lowly, desperation lacing the sound.

 

Thor knows better than to laugh, but he can't help feeling smug. With a desperate press of hips, Loki has spilled and Thor can feel the wetness seeping through the thin trousers he still wears.

 

Deciding to get ahead, he gives a parting bite to the sensitive nipple in his mouth and kneels, shuffling so he's straddling Loki's stomach, and takes himself in hand.

 

Loki's mouth is curled into an expression of silent wonder and the sight of that pink 'o' helps spur Thor along with fantasies of slipping his cock inside. Some time, hopefully rather soon. Loki reaches out to trail fingertips over the wet head of Thor's cock though he doesn't attempt to take over and seems content to watch Thor stroke himself until he cries out and splatters the entirety of Loki's chest with come.

 

Loki swipes away at his own chin, depositing the stray droplet he finds there onto the sheets while trying and failing to look reproachful.

 

With the edge of this confusing new need taken off, the silence is a little tense and lost. Thor shuffles down the bed, the position that was so erotic a minute ago suddenly awkward and dirty.

 

To his relief, Loki follows his motions with a wandering hand, seeming to lazily aim for a grope of Thor's backside.

 

The uncertainty is still there but Loki offers the smallest of smiles and starts to speak.

 

He is interrupted by the sound of a single clap, palm against palm. And then another and another until the sound becomes a mocking applause of one. They both bolt upright just in time to see the windowed wall vanish.

 

There's no desert beyond the room, but another chamber, furnished with a sofa on which the Grandmaster lounges.

 

Thor winces inwardly, recalling the words he and Loki shared.

 

“A truly amazing performance.” The Grandmaster gives a bow of his head. “A bit weak in the finish, but not lacking in spirit.”

 

“You cannot possibly believe I was ever going to help him escape,” Loki says calmly, rising from the bed as though his trousers aren't stained and his chest isn't full of little red reminders of Thor's attention. Thor squashes the instant fearful, hateful reaction to those words. Loki is lying, surely. They both most certainly need Loki to talk their way out of this.

 

“My boy, after seeing you two perform, I do not even care what your plans were.”

 

Thor stills. _No_.

 

“It appears my stage has gained a truly wondrous addition.”

 


End file.
